


Musings of Monsters

by Spellfire01



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Body horror/distortion, Brief discussion of death and betrayal, Gen, M/M, Monsters need some chill out time too, and if that time includes chatting to unlikely acquaintances, well good for them honestly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:13:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25153753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spellfire01/pseuds/Spellfire01
Summary: A series of quiet moments within situations that shouldn’t be as calm as they are.(Or, requests for various pairings having a heart-to-heart)———————————————————“You’re not my favourite person today.”“I’m not your favourite person on any day.”Michael grinned, all teeth and hair and colours that could have been magenta or cyan depending on how you looked at it. It hummed in agreement. “Neither am I, but here we are.”“Here we are…” Repeated the man who could have been a man or 50,000 ants in a ill-fitting suit, depending on who you asked.
Relationships: Gerard Keay/Michael | The Distortion, John Amherst/Michael | The Distortion
Comments: 6
Kudos: 32





	1. An unexpected visit

**Author's Note:**

> I like these characters for vastly different reasons, so my brain decided to ramble away with them.

“You’re not my favourite person today.”

“I’m not your favourite person on any day.”

Michael grinned, all teeth and hair and colours that could have been magenta or cyan depending on how you looked at it. It hummed in agreement. “Neither am I, but here we are.”

“Here we are…” Repeated the man who could have been a man or 50,000 ants in a ill-fitting suit, depending on who you asked.

The two people who were not people and likely hadn’t been people in years sat (presumably) a few meters away from each other on an old wall that had been warn down over centuries until smooth by children and pets and couples finding a silly solution to their height differences by the thousands while walking along the seafront on a sunny day out.

This however, was not a sunny day, or even a day at all. The stars twinkled few and far between, dulled by the pollution of the town a short walk away, but the moon shone bright enough to make up for the lack of them.

“Why are we here, exactly?” Said the man who’s name could be traced back to the late 1800’s, though John Amherst had never actually visited this beach before.

Good point. There are many reasons that two monsters could acquaint themselves in a meeting.

“I haven’t the faintest idea.” Logical thinking isn’t something Michael is known for, and neither is telling the truth, so it’s anyone’s guess really.

“You know, I haven’t been in the business of plagues lately. Been a while since I created a good one.” John’s accent vaguely amused Michael in a way that would have been charming if he didn’t sound like he had something stuck in his rasping throat. Michael had never been to Ireland before.

“Oh?”

“Fancy another dancing disease?”

A laugh that didn’t reach Michael’s eyes rang out into the chilly wind like a rusting bell, or a scratched vinyl record that shouldn’t still be working for how distorted it sounds. “No.”

Amherst shrugged, his dirty, too-big jacket nearly falling off of his shoulders. “From the sounds of things, you had a right laugh in the 15th century, if the history books are right. What did you do back then? Before all of—“ John gestured a greasy hand in the vague direction of a street lamp. “—this. Technology. Train stations to get lost in and those wards to find easy pickings.”

Michael tapped its too-long-claws against the worn stone, a clacking like rocks being struck against each other filling the void while it chose how to answer. “Forests mostly, up until doors became stable enough to use as something to materialise into, and staircases. Did you know there are hundreds cases of stairs dotted around woodlands all over the world?”

It’s frown didn’t match the tone of its voice, but it’s frown was more an upside-down smile than anything so maybe it did, in a roundabout way.*

“Sounds like more trouble than its worth, waiting for months at a time for people to wander aimlessly into traps.”

“Mmm…it _is_ more fun nowadays.”

“There you go, then.”

Michael hummed once more in vague annoyance, notes overlapping into a buzzing static loud enough to make ears ring, if one wasn’t used to buzzing.

John simply grinned; pettiness was something they both shared and petty rivalries, well. The Corruption and The Spiral could never truly get along. And so they sat in uncomfortable silence, waiting for the world to end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *A reference to my Michael Shelley Original Statement fic “Up the Downstairs”, give it a read! :D
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this drabble, comments make my day and keep my motivation & inspiration hyenas fed!
> 
> I’m currently taking short fic requests on my tumblr ‘thecozycryptid’ if you’re interested.


	2. in a quiet corner

“What  are you doing?”

A giggle that barely resembled a giggle echoed through the nothingness, that limbo walking the line of life and death and the square pedestal which sat in the middle. It could only be accurately described as ‘eye-seeringly bright’ and it’s glow split around the being sitting on it.

“Oh, just catching up with an old friend.”

Gerry snorted, shifting over to give Michael enough room to sit next to him, though he probably didn’t need to with how it wasn’t really a thing that was tied to physics. If physics even worked in this place. “I wouldn’t exactly call us friends.”

“What would you have us be called, Gerry?” Michael’s voice was amused, but it’s eyes were cold. It didn’t move save for its edges looking vaguely wobbly.

Michael had taken the effort to look somewhat human on this spontaneous occasion, which Gerry was grateful for. He had been so used to seeing everything in grayscale that if Michael started doing its ‘kaleidoscope thing’ it would probably bring on an awful migraine. Can you get a migraine if you’re dead? Seemed likely.

“Uh...Victims in acquaintance?”

At that Michael did move, though the way it folded as it slumped down next to Gerry would have made any normal person feel queasy. ‘All the bones are in its hands’ could have been very literal for the way that it slouched.

Once it had sighed away it’s unnerving laughter, it hummed softly, tilting it’s head and watching Gerry quietly.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing, really.”

Gerry wasn’t sure if he should find that irritating, so he ignored it as best he could. “Why do you visit me?” Not often. Not by a long shot, but every visit left Gerry with more questions.

Michael’s grin stopped its lazy stretching and seemed to falter slightly. A lapse in its care as it flickered and glitched for a second. “I’m...Curious about you.”

Gerry frowned in confusion. “Why?”

Michael’s grin warped unsettlingly and Gerry felt its gaze turn upon the eye tattoos on his hands, his neck, the ink peaking out of his knees from under the material of his faded, ripped jeans. “I may not be of the Eye— not anymore at least, but still...there remains some residual curiosity lingering...”

“Right. You, uhm, used to work for Gertrude too, yeah? Dropped off the face of the earth just as I started working there.”

“Ahhh, so you  _ do _ remember Michael?” It made an off, disinterested sound the seemed detached from itself. “I can’t say he deserves to live in any of your memories, you barely noticed him.” It’s tone had taken on a slightly bitter edge that left Gerry feeling mildly guilty.

“Never said I didn’t _care_ about him, I’d only met him once or twice and I don’t generally make a habit of taking to strangers. We worked together, made brief small talk on a few occasions then bam, gone.” Gerry looked down to where his hand rested on the platform, shifting uncomfortably and his voice softened into a mumble. “He didn’t deserve what happened to him though.”

“He was naive, and Gertrude took advantage of that.” Michael stated matter-of-factly in a cold monotone.

“Gertrude did a lot of things. Like, I get it, she was saving the world but look where it’s gotten us. I don’t regret helping her but I just...I thought she was-“ Gerry laughs bitterly, his hands curling into fists by his sides. “-I _thought_ she would have at least granted me the freedom of death once I’d kicked the bucket, after everything with my family, I can’t even be rewarded with that.”

Michael was quiet aside from a faint static filling the air that could be described as sounding ‘swirly’, and in turn so was Gerry.

An immeasurable about of time had passed by the time a large, incomprehensible hand came into view, glitched, and was replaced by another far more human-looking once that rested itself on top of Gerry’s fist. It was heavy, pushing Gerry’s hand flat, the skin cold and textured in a way that reminded him of wet leather, far too sharp at all the wrong points and felt viscerally wrong. Yet it was probably the most comforting gesture Gerry had experienced in years.

Gerry turned his hand over with some effort and slowly, ever-so-carefully slotted his fingers between groves that felt wrong and right to hold. And so they sat quietly, watching the nothingness for a time that didn’t exist outside of an old, battered book.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this drabble, comments make my day and keep my motivation & inspiration hyenas fed!
> 
> I’m currently taking more of these ficlet requests on my tumblr ‘thecozycryptid’ if you’re interested.


End file.
